


A Temporary Truce

by spaceyquill



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:41:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21717853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceyquill/pseuds/spaceyquill
Summary: Hera has time to get to know Thrawn better when he becomes a prisoner on the Ghost.
Relationships: Hera Syndulla/Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo
Comments: 7
Kudos: 69
Collections: Star Wars Rare Pairs Exchange 2019





	A Temporary Truce

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LieutenantIvant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LieutenantIvant/gifts).



Nothing but stars filled the viewport of the _Ghost_ as Hera exited the cockpit. She passed empty cabins on her way to the common room which was occupied by a single person: Grand Admiral Thrawn, looking far too proper for their couch. He sat as if rigidity could be a personality trait, his focus bent over the holographic pieces on the dejarik board. Hera wouldn’t have even known he was in binders if she hadn’t been the one to clamp them on him herself. 

He looked up from his game, red eyes penetrating. “Have we arrived?”

“We have,” Hera said, folding her arms in front of her chest. “Reinforcements will join us soon, so until then, we wait.” 

Thrawn returned to studying the game board, and Hera took this opportunity to study him. The Phoenix cell had learned of a meeting between unnamed high-ranking Imperials on Mygeeto and the Spectres rushed to the location and found only Thrawn there. Her crew unanimously agreed, after they had cuffed Thrawn with no resistance, that this was clearly a trap of some kind. None of them wanted to take Thrawn to their cell’s brig above Atollon, so Hera packed everyone else into the _Phantom II_ to return to base and transported Thrawn alone to Location Cresh, one of the many middles-of-space coordinates the rebellion had in their database for unobservable meeting points. The perfect location when someone of Thrawn’s rank requested to meet with the leaders of the Alliance. 

“In the meantime,” continued Hera, “why don’t we talk?”

“I am at your disposal,” Thrawn said, his bright red eyes flicking back to her, holding her gaze with an intensity that wasn’t quite a challenge. Maybe it was just his natural resting face that looked borderline smug, but Hera couldn’t help fearing he had something up his sleeve, and somehow, every precaution she took was playing directly into his hands. He lifted his cuffed wrists. “Perhaps these may come off now?”

Hera’s eyes narrowed. 

“Please, Captain, what could I possibly do here aboard your ship?”

“Incapacitate me and sail the _Ghost_ directly to the Empire,” Hera fired back. 

Thrawn’s arms cut through the holographic figures as he leaned on the table, smirking. “While you are a formidable opponent in my eyes, you and your ship are not held in similar esteem by my associates. I give you my word that I will not harm you.” 

On the petty grounds that Hera could rub Thrawn’s nose in it if he doubled back on a promise—and if anything happened to her she would absolutely survive out of pure spite to do just that—Hera approached and unlocked the binders. She dropped them into one of her flight suit cargo pockets to keep them out of Thrawn’s reach. “A couple rules while you’re on my ship: you don’t go anywhere without me, and I want to see your hands at all times.” 

“Understood,” he said with a slight bow of his head. She joined him at the opposite end of the couch, a safe arm’s length between them. 

“What were you doing on Mygeeto?” 

“I was invited to tour the facilities by the moff of that sector.”

“You were there for a meeting,” Hera said. Phoenix’s informant had been clear about it.

“Assuredly. At my rank, I have many meetings in a day.” 

“What was it about?”

“You and your crew arrived before it could take place,” Thrawn said. Hera glowered at him. He was her captive and reinforcements were bound to show up—Thrawn should not have looked this relaxed, and he certainly shouldn’t have been so at ease as to make jokes. But then again, if he had given her proper answers she would have dismissed them as lies. She couldn’t wait for reinforcements to arrive.

“It’s rather warm in here,” Thrawn announced as his hands reached for his neck. 

A pang of fear shot through Hera. “What are you doing?” she demanded. 

“Removing my jacket, unless you prefer I stand on ceremony,” Thrawn said, though he had frozen all movement from the moment of her outburst. Hera eyed him and then his jacket. Zeb had already patted him down before he left; Chopper had scanned him—both had said he was clear of weapons, yet Hera couldn’t help being suspicious. 

“Hands,” she said, and waited for him to lift them in the universal sign of surrender before she stood and rounded the table, motioning for him to get up, too. She unclasped his collar even with her pilot gloves, and tugged on the front of his uniform trying to locate the buttons, pretending she didn’t need the few words of direction Thrawn shared with her. Finally she exposed the black shirt underneath. She had Thrawn lower one hand at a time, one blue arm bared and then the other as she pulled his jacket from him, and draped it over her own arm. “Water?”

“If you’d be so kind.” 

Hera pointed behind him to the galley doorway. “After you.” 

“Your ship is quite charming,” Thrawn said from the galley table as Hera set down a pitcher of water and two cups between them. “There is an undeniable homey atmosphere. I find it comforting.” 

“Glad you’re comfortable,” Hera said, irony dripping. Thrawn poured himself water when Hera made no move to oblige, and she forced her eyes away from his toned blue arms. 

“I attempt to do this in my own personal spaces within the Empire. The rooms are painfully barren otherwise. My growing art collections might not make an office feel lived in like this, but color is such a welcoming touch. I especially appreciate your Kalikori, it’s a wonderful addition to the rest of my—”

“Why don’t we do something else?” Hera snapped. 

Two hours later, when reinforcements from the Alliance still hadn’t arrived, Hera sat once more at the dejarik table playing her third game against Thrawn. It wouldn’t have been half as irritating if Thrawn had kept all the tactical mistakes she made to himself, instead of sharing them in the hopes of educating her. It wouldn’t have been so odd if Thrawn had remained in his Grand Admiral jacket; outside of it, even though nothing else had changed about him, he felt less like an Imperial officer. 

Two more hours found them in the cockpit. Thrawn sat in the co-pilot’s seat because he had to be there, but he seemed to take enough interest in Hera replacing the burned out lights in the navigation display. She wasn’t sure if him watching her so closely was a compliment or a warning. He asked her questions about the _Ghost_ which felt more like he was attempting to learn the schematics of her ship, and earned few replies. 

Two hours after that and Hera jolted awake from where she’d fallen asleep in the pilot’s chair. Relief immediately doused her shrieking worries when she saw Thrawn slumped in the same seat as before, passed out just as she had been. His blue arms crossed his chest like he was trying to keep warm without his jacket, which Hera had left in the galley. She’d found every member of her crew outside of Zeb in this exact position at least a couple of times on her ship, and in that moment Hera let herself imagine how different it would be if Thrawn was a rebellion asset instead of an Imperial one, sleeping like this as a crewmember, not a prisoner. 

If only. 

She nudged his knee until he woke up. “We’re moving.” His eyes hazily darted to the viewport where there were still only stars. “They’re not here yet,” she sighed. Not only had the Alliance failed to arrive, but they also failed to contact her at all. She had no idea when to expect anyone, and she couldn’t send a message to Atollon and risk the destination being noticed by Thrawn. She had to believe the rebels were just playing it safe and waiting for the right time to arrive and take Thrawn… somewhere. He was an invaluable prisoner of war; they could not afford to pass this up. 

In the meantime, Hera needed a controlled environment where she could still sleep. She took a sheet from Ezra’s bunk, a blanket from Sabine's cabin, and a pillow from Kanan's and assembled them on the generous bench in her own quarters. It was a spot visible from her bed, where she would certainly be sleeping with her blaster pistol. 

“If you need out of the room, wake me up. The door will only recognize my code,” she said as she keyed that security measure into the control panel. 

“I admire all the precautions you’re taking,” Thrawn said, directly behind her. She spun to find him staring down at her with a half-lidded, tired expression. Seeing the Grand Admiral anything other than fully alert was bizarre, and as Hera squeaked by him to get to her bunk it finally hit her how surreal this all was. She’d just locked someone of the highest rank in the Imperial Navy in her cabin with her, and she was trusting him not to do anything while she slept. Her goggles and gloves landed on the shelf near her bed, her boots fell where she discarded them, and Hera climbed into her bunk.

Her first nightmare was of Thrawn forcibly taking her own pistol from her while she was powerless to fight back. She jerked awake to find her weapon still in her own hand and Thrawn still under the blanket on the bench. 

Her second nightmare was of Death Troopers marching into her quarters—the door opening just fine for them because it was never locked at all—and arresting her for Thrawn. Hera shot up with a gasp. Her quarters were quiet, just the soft glow of standby lights along the edge of her room and a sliver of red peeking from Thrawn’s face. 

“Is something wrong?” he asked. She checked the chronometer next to the bed to find it wasn’t anywhere close to the day cycle. She rubbed her face.

Thrawn shifted on the bench and Hera automatically demanded, “Hands!” Two blue hands lifted from under the blanket. Hera refused to feel sheepish for asking when her heart still hammered with the echoes of her nightmares.

Thrawn moved slowly, sitting up, standing, approaching her bunk with hands out wide and visible. “You and I are both command officers. We have the power to call a temporary truce here, in the middle of nowhere.” He reached the edge of her bunk and rested his arms on it, his bright eyes watching her. “It could last until your rebel friends arrive and no one would be the wiser.” 

The way Thrawn looked at her as he said that made even Hera’s lekku blush. But honestly, she already liked the sound of his proposition. “What would the truce entail?”

“No acts of violence, naturally. Perhaps we should avoid discussing details pertaining to the Empire and rebellion altogether. We will merely be two people on a ship. No allegiances.” 

Hera parsed through his words, looking for loopholes or anything that could give him the upper hand. But everything sounded straightforward. It seemed like an appropriate arrangement for a dark room. “Okay. Until the rebellion arrives. Truce.” She held out a hand and he shook it.

His touch was almost electric; as Thrawn held her hand, Hera realized they had never had skin to skin contact before. His red eyes glowing in the dimness turned the room small somehow, when that was all Hera focused on. It was just the two of them in this moment. Her heart still hammered, but all traces of her nightmares had fully evaporated by now.

“I am sorry you’re having a difficult time sleeping,” Thrawn said softly, intimately. “If I can help ease your mind, I will do whatever I can.” 

The thought which voluntarily popped into her head was not one she gave voice to, but she blushed all the same. “No need. I think I’m up now. I’m getting caf.” She climbed out of her bunk, foregoing her boots as she once more squeaked past Thrawn and the obvious warmth that was his body heat. She had no way of describing him aside from magnetic. She had to create some space between them because the way her body wanted to react to him was not at all what the rebellion had in mind when they told their people to treat prisoners fairly. 

Hera had punched in the first couple numbers of her access code into the control panel when she felt Thrawn behind her again. Her lekku curled of their own accord. “Hands,” she said. She expected Thrawn to assume the posture of surrender again—not for two blue hands to splay against the door on either side of Hera. Code forgotten, Hera whipped around to face Thrawn, the door cold against her skin. 

“Your safety in regards to my presence seems to occupy most of your worries,” Thrawn whispered. He was mere inches away; anything louder was unnecessary. “I wish to alleviate this fear.” 

Hera’s mind ran with several different scenarios for how he could accomplish this, all of them making her skin tingle and her breath hitch. 

Thrawn had angled to one side of her head now, whispering into one hidden ear: “Where would my hands put your mind most at ease?” 

In the dark, where for the moment he wasn’t a grand admiral and she wasn’t a rebel captain, the inevitable outcome to his proximity, his tantalizing body heat in the cold of space, and his gaze hovering on her lips was clear. It now seemed like this was the situation Thrawn had been angling for all along. Though it couldn’t be the sole reason. The thought that _she_ could be that compelling to an adversary only flamed her desire. Well… right now that adversary was just a man.

“Somewhere I can keep track of them,” she intoned. Fingers skated down one lek above her shoulder and Hera couldn’t stifle a gasp as the sensation traveled straight to her core. She reached out just to hold onto something and grabbed his hips, steadying herself until she could think straight again. “Do you always start with fingering a girl?” 

“Only if she insists.” His self-satisfied smile—the widest smile she had ever seen on him—would’ve irritated her in any other situation, but right now Hera wondered what other new behaviors she could spark.

His hands landed firmly on her waist. His touch melted into a stroke, feeling along her sides, venturing to her back, an eager pressure she felt through the layers of her flight suit. Hera couldn’t take Thrawn’s gaze anymore, like he was fantasizing three steps ahead and enjoying every sensation. She wanted to share in that experience, too. She lifted a hand, hooking a finger under Thrawn’s chin ever so lightly, and pulling him close until he kissed her. 

All of the irritation from earlier—in Thrawn’s behavior, in his rank, in the fact that they were stuck waiting for her superiors—bled out in proportion to how forcefully Hera kissed him. Her hand snagged in his hair and the next thing she knew they were flush against one another. The way they pulled on one another, Hera couldn’t tell where she ended and he began. The more he touched her and mirrored the desperation in her kiss, the tighter the heat in her core wound, the ache as insistent as the pleasure he elicited. All she could focus on was the need for release. 

Both hands grabbed his shirt, wrenching it untucked and giving Hera access to the skin underneath. Thrawn demonstrated the same insistence with her flight suit, probably spurred on by the assumption Hera had come to, that the rebellion could interrupt them at any minute. 

Two hours later found Hera in a tangle of blue on her bunk, sleeping off their repeated exertion. Their first time, merely a race to mutual gratification, allowed their following endeavors to be slower, more adventurous. The next time Hera saw Thrawn in full uniform, it would take effort to see him as a grand admiral again when she was intimately more familiar with the man whose hands had traveled every inch of her body, leaving nothing but satisfaction in their wake. 


End file.
